


Never Really Sleep Anymore

by Fire_Bear



Series: Hang Cool Teddy Bear [11]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: (sort of), Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 05:56:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4423982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Bear/pseuds/Fire_Bear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred hasn't been getting much sleep recently - and for good reason...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Really Sleep Anymore

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the song [It Just Won't Quit](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=11HP72AiXpk). (I think I may have worked out how to put links in the notes? Yay.)

Alfred rubbed at his eyes, taking great care not to knock his glasses off. He needed them to see, after all, and he was driving. When that didn't work, though, he blinked rapidly, watching the lights flickering as he passed them by. It was already rather late and he wondered if he should take the time to go find somewhere to eat before he arrived... _there_.

Sighing, he shook his head. He wasn't a coward: even if returning there was painful, he would go through with it. Besides, maybe tonight he could fall asleep instantly, such a deep sleep that there would be no dreams or memories. A yawn escaped him and he remembered that he hadn't glanced into the rearview mirror in a while. He groaned; he was barely concentrating on the road.

With a considerable amount of effort, he raised his eyes and looked into the mirror, watching for anything on the road behind him. Instead, he found himself staring into bright green eyes and messy blond hair. His breath caught in his throat as the man smiled sweetly at him. No. He couldn't be there. Alfred didn't see him outside of his bedroom, nowadays.

"Arthur?" he breathed. His eyes were already beginning to water.

"Hello, Alfred," said the man, smile widening. "Did you have a good day, love?"

"I-"

He was cut off by a loud honking from in front of him. Wrenching his gaze from the mirror, he looked out of the windscreen to find a truck heading straight for him. Gasping, he turned the steering wheel so sharply that the wheels of his vehicle had difficulty gaining traction. It shifted out of the way of the oncoming truck before spinning and stalling. Finally, the car stopped, blocking the entirety of the lane Alfred had been in, several cars stopping at the blockage.

Inside, Alfred gripped the steering wheel, his heart racing, eyes wide. Slowly, he glanced into the mirror and merely saw the cars passing by in the opposite direction, the drivers peering at him. Arthur had disappeared.

Which probably meant that he had hallucinated again.

Or...

The alternative was much more horrible and he didn't know which he'd rather it be. He sighed and pushed his glasses onto his forehead to rub at his face and eyes. If only he could get more sleep, he'd be able to know which it was. Though, if they _were_ hallucinations, did he really want them to stop?

* * *

It was hours before he managed to trudge into his bedroom. After he had managed to bring himself to move, he had righted the car and went on his way. Someone must have taken down his number and called the cops, though, for he reached the house at the same time as a car did. They asked him what had happened and he told them everything except for the man he had seen in his back seat. Luckily, they let him off with a warning and told him to get some sleep.

They probably saw how exhausted he was.

Once they had left, he dragged himself up to the bedroom, passing by the locked study door and the overgrown potted plant in the hall. It looked like it was dying, too, and Alfred forced back a sob. He had no idea how to take care of a plant properly and he'd just been pouring water over it whenever he remembered. When had he last done so? Did it matter anymore?

Reaching the bed, he let himself fall, face first, and sprawled out over the double bed. Alfred remembered buying it, seeing as they had needed a bigger one. A single wasn't going to cut it from now on, they had agreed.

Except 'from now on' turned into just three months.

It took him a lot longer than it should have to realise that the blanket beneath him was wet. Pushing himself up on one arm, Alfred used the other to wipe at his eyes. He had thought he'd run out of tears by this point. Rolling himself over, he sprawled on _his_ side of the bed and scrubbed at his eyes. God, what he would do to have him back in his life.

Throwing an arm over his eyes, Alfred let out a sigh. His life was a mess now. And the lack of sleep was getting to him more and more. But the dreams – the nightmares – kept him up for most of the night. Someone had suggested sleeping pills a few days ago: Alfred found himself refusing. After all, what would he do when the dreams stopped?

"Alfred! What on Earth are you doing? Get up and help me, will you?"

Dropping his arm, Alfred's eyes flew open. Above him, green leaves danced in the slight breeze. Beyond them, he could see the clear blue sky, a solitary white cloud lazily travelling across the blank expanse. He sat up, eyes wide. In front of him was a stunning view of the town spread out below him, interspersed with distant trees. But what had his heart racing and a grin forming was the sight of Arthur hauling a cooler up the crest of the hill.

Laughing, Alfred leapt to his feet and hurried over. "Sorry, honey. The climb was more exhausting than I thought." He took the box and effortlessly carried it over to the patchwork blanket. Once he had deposited it there, he turned to survey Arthur.

His blond hair had been dishevelled by the breeze. Sweat was running down his face and he wiped at it with a pale arm. The t-shirt he was wearing was a pale green and baggy which was probably intended to help keep the heat at bay. A baggy pair of cargo shorts hung from his hips, showing off his legs. Muddied hiking boots accompanied the image; some of the dirt had even splashed onto his legs.

Suddenly, his striking green eyes met Alfred's and his heart almost stopped. "What?" Arthur demanded.

"Nothing. Something," said Alfred. "You look amazing."

"I'm a mess, Al: shut up."

"No, no, really!" Alfred blushed and grinned down at his own hiking boots. "I was just thinking we'll both need a shower when we get home..."

"Honestly," sighed Arthur. He chuckled. "Everything comes back to sex with you."

"That's not true!"

"Ah, yes. I forgot about food and your games," Arthur conceded, making his way over.

"Unfair!" Alfred protested with a pout.

"Sorry, dear. You brought that on yourself."

Arthur slowly and carefully lowered himself onto his homemade blanket. As soon as he was settled, he began to set out the food. Alfred watched him for a moment, marvelling in having Arthur _with him_ , before he dropped down beside his boyfriend. He pecked Arthur on the cheek and leaned over him to pull out the bottles of water they'd brought. After offering one to Arthur, he opened his and gulped some down. Finishing, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and found Arthur watching him out of the corner of his eye.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," said Arthur, quickly. His cheeks were red, though, and Alfred grinned at how amazing he looked.

 _Now or never_ , he thought.

"Hey, Artie?" he said, gaining Arthur's attention in the middle of a rant about a book. Arthur glanced at him and cocked his head, the cream from his éclair caught at the corner of his mouth. Alfred chuckled and wiped it off with a finger. He offered it to Arthur who rolled his eyes and darted out his tongue to lick it off.

"What is it?" Arthur asked once he had swallowed.

"I wanna ask you a question."

"Oh?" Setting down the rest of the éclair, he turned to face Alfred. His eyes widened as he gazed down at Alfred's hands within which rested an opened box. The ring glinted in the sunlight.

"Arthur. I love you so, _so_ much so... will ya marry me?"

Alfred's heart was beating rapidly again. This was the entire reason he had dragged Arthur up here, even going so far as forcing Arthur into those shorts when he said he didn't have a pair and didn't want to climb a hill in trousers and the heat of summer. Would he say yes? Would he tell him it was too soon? It had only been a year and a month since they started dating. Not that Alfred was counting.

Slowly, a fond smile spread its way across Arthur's face. Alfred could see the tears in his eyes, making them look like tranquil pools. He nodded vigorously and held out his hand. Just as Alfred reached out to take it, grinning, Arthur's spoken answer stopped him short.

"No. I'm not going to marry you, Al. I'm going to die. And there's nothing you can do to stop it."

"W-What?" breathed Alfred, though he had already known. How could he forget those terrible words spoken to him through his cell phone? _I'm afraid there's been an accident..._

"You heard me," said Arthur, who was still smiling. Behind his fiancé, Alfred watched the sky rip in two, flames flickering out of the darkness. Rough laughter began to echo around his ears: he recognised it from the drunk driver he had watched being taking away in handcuffs. Gigantic hands slowly began to push their way out of the gap, reaching long, spidery fingers towards Arthur.

Shouting out, Alfred tried to reach for Arthur but the Englishman was miles away. Stumbling to his feet, he began to run, tripping and panting. He had to reach him: he couldn't bear it.

However, he had barely begun moving before the hands snatched Arthur away. All at once, Alfred felt an intense pain in his chest and he dropped to the ground, eyes wide as he watched Arthur struggling, kicking wildly as he thrashed in the deadly grip. Then he seemed to be pulled past a barrier and the sky began to close. Alfred reached out a hand and tried to crawl after them. Instead, the ground seemed to fall away from him and he began rolling back down the hill.

* * *

Alfred sat up with a yell, eyes wide. His gaze darted around until he realised that he was still in the bedroom and it had been months since that day on the hilltop. Shakily, he raised a hand and covered his eyes – his glasses had been knocked off in his sleep – as he tried to keep in a sob. How many times had he dreamt of that? How many times had he dreamt that Arthur was alive and well only to have him snatched away? How many times had he awoken to remember that Arthur had died in a car accident almost a month ago?

Or was it two?

He'd completely lost track of time by now. Every time he lay down to sleep, he would be woken by his nightmares. It would then be impossible for him to return to sleep, tossing and turning as he dreaded what else his mind could conjure up.

But that wasn't the worst thing in his life at the moment.

Sighing, he rubbed at his eyes; he seemed to be able to stop crying quicker. Once he had found his glasses, he grabbed them and placed them on the bedside table. Then he peeled off his shirt and pants before wandering into the bathroom. Peering into the mirror, he could see his bloodshot eyes. If this sleeplessness went on any longer, he'd look like a demon. After he had splashed his face with water to clean off the tears, he returned to the room, still dripping. There he found what made the loss of Arthur so much worse.

"What are you doing up, love?" asked a vision of the man, smiling kindly at him.

He wasn't sure what it was. The figure of Arthur was swathed in a white robe and Alfred had, at first, though he was an angel. Then he had noticed the lack of wings or feet and that the bottom of the robe simply faded out of existence. That was when he considered that Arthur was a ghost, unable to move on because he was unwilling to leave him. He had spent a fair amount of time in the middle of the night trying to convince Arthur to leave but the apparition had insisted on staying by his side.

When he realised that he hadn't had much sleep since Arthur's death, he was horrified to think that, perhaps, he was hallucinating instead. Arthur never gave him a straight answer, though, which just frustrated Alfred.

"Go away," Alfred croaked, averting his gaze and hoping that Arthur would leave.

"Oh! Have you got a sore throat? I'll go get you some water," Arthur replied, ignoring what Alfred had said. The thing passed Alfred on his way out of the room and Alfred breathed a sigh of relief. Then he was tapped on the shoulder and he steeled himself to turn and face Arthur. "Here," said his dead fiancé, still smiling.

Taking the glass offered to him, Alfred gulped some down before he attempted to speak again. "You can't be here."

"Of course I can."

"No, I mean, you _shouldn't_ be here. I need you to go."

Arthur's smile never wavered but he tilted his head in confusion. "Why?" His voice betrayed that he was hurt.

"I didn't mean it like that," sighed Alfred. "I need some sleep."

"Do you want me to sing to you?"

"Please just-" A broken and muffled sob stopped Alfred from continuing. Taking a deep breath, he said, "You're dead." That was something he had had to remind himself for weeks now.

"That doesn't mean I can't sing to you."

"It means you _shouldn't_."

"But I want to," Arthur insisted, reaching out to Alfred. He jerked away, hoping it would discourage Arthur.

"That- I can't sleep with-"

"My song will put you to sleep. I learnt a new one, you know."

Alfred froze. Each night, Arthur would eventually sing to him. He had always had a beautiful voice but now it seemed almost ethereal. Every song was different and each made Alfred react differently: one would make his heart warm with affection; another had him crying for the rest of the night whether Arthur remained to comfort him or not; yet another had him pacing and angry, wanting to kill the drunk driver who had stolen Arthur from him. Whenever Arthur mentioned singing in the night, he knew he should refuse and get some sleep – but he couldn't bring himself to do that. He _needed_ to hear what Arthur had to sing. And there was the extra bonus of having Arthur there to support him, at least for a while.

He was still hopelessly in love with him, after all.

"All right," Alfred conceded. He sat down on the bed and Arthur stood (or floated) before him, still smiling down at him with that pretty, kind smile. Taking a breath Alfred was sure Arthur didn't need, the dead man began to sing.

* * *

The day dawned and the birds began to sing. Alfred rubbed at his eyes in frustration and, when he opened them, Arthur was nowhere to be found. He groaned and staggered to the bathroom to shower – hopefully it would wake him up a little. Instead, he found that he could barely bring himself to move. Maybe he should take the day off work...

No. He had taken enough days off lately. Besides, if he stayed in the house, he would see Arthur again. He couldn't bear it, not today.

Coffee was a godsend and he drank a whole pot before having to relieve himself. Every movement on his part was slow and he trudged up the stairs. The mirror showed how ashen he was now and his red eyes. Returning downstairs, he glanced at Arthur's precious grandfather clock and noticed he had to leave. Gathering his things, he made his way to the car and set off.

Halfway there, he began to regret leaving the house. His eyes hurt and he was yawning continuously. Several times, he had found himself swerving: thankfully, this time, he stayed on his side of the road.

At this time, the roads were quiet and he took advantage of this to allow himself to rub at his eyes with a free hand. He yawned and, not thinking quite so clearly, he took his other hand from the wheel to rub at his face as well. Once he felt as though he had pushed past his tiredness for a moment, he adjusted his glasses, dropped his hands and blinked rapidly at the sight before him.

There was a huge truck coming straight for him, seemingly in slow motion.

 _That can't be right_ , he thought. _He should be on the other side._

Glancing to his left, he found that, no, _he_ was the one on the wrong side of the road. "Oh," he said as he realised that he had no time to move out of the way. His tiredness had got the best of him and he was about to crash, he realised.

Instinctively, he glanced into his rearview mirror. Alfred smiled at what he saw there – and Arthur smiled back, just before the impact.

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't decide whether I wanted Arthur to be a ghost or a hallucination so I decided to be vague - and it got creepy instead.
> 
> Also, the thing about his nightmare is that it ended badly in this one but I like to think that most of them were just him dreaming of Arthur being alive and with him. I couldn't remember where I'd gotten the idea for it but it suddenly came to me a few minutes ago: it's from a doujinishi where America calls Lithuania for advice for something and he explains that the worst dreams are when you're happy and then you have it snatched away from you when you wake up. (He was talking about dreaming about being with Poland and then waking up in Russia's house.) I can't remember the name of it or anything else about it so I can't send you off to read it. =/
> 
> EDIT: Ah, I've found the one I was talking about = [Re: Dream](http://gotchibi.tumblr.com/post/10818038999/re-dream-usuk-r-18). It's an R18.


End file.
